


Fresh Starts are Not Easy

by WeUsedToKnock



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-02 11:17:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17263271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeUsedToKnock/pseuds/WeUsedToKnock
Summary: Post Series 3, not everything works out as planned.(Some Milathos, for Apricot)





	Fresh Starts are Not Easy

She is Milady de Winter. She is a spy and assassin for the Crown and she prides herself on her discretion and efficiency in dealing with 'problems'. Lies, deception and death provide her with the lifestyle that she has always wanted, though it comes at a price. She is not Anne. Milady does not like Anne de Breuil - Anne wants a different life and has a tendency, even now, to miss her husband and regret his absence - especially when she is alone in her rooms or wakes in the night. Milady would rather plot revenge than bemoan her loss, though she would not stoop to harm either of them; she has her pride, and if Athos does not want her then she refuses to want him.

The first time she answered a summons from Court and found Aramis waiting in the room, she hid her surprise behind an arched eyebrow and a mocking smile. The Queen, it seems, would rather not deal with her directly if she doesn't have to. So now is it usually Aramis who provides her with instructions and a purse of coins. They have established a polite working relationship - there is grudging respect on both sides and it is not as if he doesn't owe his life to her skills. She finds it faintly ironic that the man who once told her that she should not treat death so lightly is now the one who orders her to kill. Sometimes, when he mentions having heard from Athos, Milady cuts him dead with a look. Later, in internal arguments, Anne rails against her for refusing to hear any news of him. The nights that follow these episodes are restless, disturbed by dreams and emotions that she refuses to acknowledge, but life continues - she observes and listens and reports her findings to Aramis, then acts on his orders. To her surprise, he has made a good First Minister. He does not ask for her advice, but he has the good sense to listen to her opinions when she can be bothered to offer them - she learned from the best after all. And if his interest in the 'good of France' is of a more personal nature than Richelieu's ever was, then she does not acknowledge it. Some knowledge is too dangerous, and a man who will order deaths to protect the nebulous concept of 'France' would not hesitate to remove threats to his son.

\-----

Aramis has cleared his schedule and sits with d'Artagnan in an anonymous tavern, listening. Athos looks tired and dejected. Sylvie left him after the child that bound them together had died, their mutual grief had only served to exacerbate their differences - entrenching his belief that some things cannot be changed while Sylvie became increasingly revolutionary. She had said that she wanted to know him, but had ultimately been unable to reconcile his views with hers, and unwilling to play second fiddle to the ghost of his marriage. He is consumed with guilt at letting her down, and with grief at the death of both the child and his hopes for a new life. He has no plans, and has gravitated back to the familiarity and anonymity of Paris, and then to his friends. They offer their condolences, then sit in silence while Athos stares blankly at his glass, lost in his thoughts. Where honour and duty once ran though his veins, there is now regret and self-loathing. Honour? It seems a derisory concept, especially where women are concerned. He abandoned Catherine without a second glance - once when he married and then again when he hung his wife and left for Paris. He betrayed Anne - condemning her without even asking for an explanation or considering that her defence might be truthful. He had deceived Sylvie - led her to believe that he loved her as much as she had loved him, lying by omission if not outright.

Aramis speaks of forgiveness and God's will. D'Artagnan, more pragmatically, announces that while Athos decides what he wants to do, he can make himself useful at the garrison - the standard of some of the swordplay is woeful and his skills would be a valuable asset in training the regiment. He could lodge there or take rooms in the city. Athos shrugs in agreement and d'Artagnan smiles - pleased with himself for presenting this solution to Athos' rudderless existence. Aramis passes on news of Porthos - busy at the front. He skirts over Porthos and Elodie's expanding family, then launches into an innocuous description of his life in the palace: the tedium of paperwork, the endless meetings and political manoeuvring. He admits that he misses the excitement and immediacy of being a Musketeer, but he is good at his job. And he enjoys having influence, steering events to the advantage of France, being able to see the Queen daily and watch the Dauphin grow. Milady, he mentions, still works for the Crown - providing her services with efficiency if not enthusiasm. This information receives no reaction from Athos other than a brief glance up from the empty glass. Later, d'Artagnan berates Aramis - surely the last thing Athos needs is any entanglement with Milady. Aramis shrugs - there is no reason that they should meet, but at least Athos will not be taken by surprise if they do. As to an 'entanglement' - he merely passed on the information, it is up to Athos what he does with it.

Athos does nothing with the information, other than to lie in his bed and seek relief from dreams and memories that leave him depressed and jittery. During daytime the Garrison keeps him busy, but it is not the same - the inseparables are scattered and although he performs his duties with diligence, his heart is not in it. He holds himself apart and drinks into the night - enough to dull the pain without reaching oblivion. He does not deserve to forget. But behind his despondency there is a constant thrum - a nagging itch: she is here, in the same city as him, breathing the same air as him. She is here.

\-------

Aramis watches Milady with a speculative expression as he passes on her latest orders. She guesses that he is wondering how, or whether to tell her that Athos has returned to Paris. As if she wouldn't know already - her network of informants and contacts is spread wide across the city and penetrates all levels of society from subterranean gutters to the heights of the palace. She tells herself that she doesn't care, but she doesn't need Anne's breathless reaction in her head to know that she is lying. And she is torn - knowing how easily she could see him, but having no wish to be rejected again. She hates her herself for her indecision, and hates him for causing it.

\-------

In the event, they meet in a tavern. Milady has given up waiting for her contact to appear and as she turns to leave, she finds herself face-to-face with Athos. She stops dead and a man spills his drink as he swerves to avoid colliding with her - he swears at her and Athos' attention snaps away from her to punch the man without hesitation and promise further retribution if his wife is insulted again. She is astonished, and watches the man retreat from the murderous expression on Athos's face. Then she turns to look at her erstwhile husband - masking her shock at both his presence and his reaction with an expression of mild incredulity. He looks taken aback by his own response, and then slightly embarrassed - after all, he forfeit any claim to her when he chose Sylvie. Milady could take offence at his intervention - she would be well within her rights. But she is not just Milady, she is also Anne and everything in between, and their relationship has never been that simple. Still, she leaves the tavern as planned and declines his offer of an escort home. And she refuses to give him the pleasure of a reaction to his presence.

Athos follows her anyway - he tells himself that he merely wishes to see her safely home - not because he wishes to know where she lives. She well aware of his presence - she is tempted to return to an acquaintance's house to confuse him, but she is too tired for such games tonight, and she returns home. His eyes remain fixed on her back until a servant shuts the front door behind her.

He watches the closed door and wonders. What if he had met her at the crossroads? He has rationalised his guilt and regret about that matter years ago - after all, she did not wait for him, perhaps she had never intended to wait and had simply dropped the glove as she passed - another of her games and deceptions. But what if he _had_ left sooner, or she had waited longer? What if he had welcomed her on her return instead of choking her in blind fury at the suspicion that she had hurt Sylvie. For he had loved Sylvie, or at least, cared for her with the parts of his splintered heart that had not been shattered by Anne. But the leftovers of his love had not been enough in the end, and now he is haunted by questions about his past and the choices he has made. He leans against a wall opposite her house for a long time before he turns to leave.

In the privacy of her bedroom, servants dismissed, Milady leans against a bedpost. She should be thinking about her informant - his absence tonight and what that might mean - what contingency plans she can use. But those thoughts are like distant flies buzzing against the glass of a closed window. Her thoughts are consumed by the events of the night that _did_ happen - not those that didn't. Wife. He had named her his wife and followed her home - the weight of his gaze on her back every step of the way. 'What if?' She wonders. What if she had had the courage to wait at the crossroads, to stay until sundown? And her glove - where he once wore her locket, he had kept her glove with him - had that ultimately been an irrelevant keepsake? Was she just a distant memory to be eclipsed by the reality of Sylvie? What if he had chosen her over Sylvie? She has turned these questions over in her head countless times and she is sick of them. But they persist, and now there are more. What if she had let him escort her home? What if she had invited him in? Her stomach lurches and her knees feel weak at the recollection of his touch.

That night they both lie awake in their beds, their sleep disturbed by their memories, with no relief other than that they can provide for themselves. They both wonder what they will say to each other next time they meet, and how such a meeting might happen - by chance or by planning.

In the morning, Milady thinks that if Athos approaches her, she would likely slap him, or maybe spit in his face and turn him away. Anne would probably throw herself at his feet and cling to his legs - begging him not to forsake her again. Somewhere between the two, she needs to find a balance. He had claimed her as his wife? She veers between outrage, hilarity, and hope, and does not like to think what it might mean - the possibilities and the emotions that they evoke scare her. She has a life - a home, servants, respectability and social status. He could bring all of that crashing down around her.

\--------

Athos does not see her during the next week, although she is ever present in his peripheral vision - a swish of skirts; a laugh in a crowded street, a hint of jasmine on the air. And always the flowers embossed on his leather. He sends a messenger to her house to enquire if her ladyship is at home. She is not - she is away for three weeks. He does not ask further questions and Aramis does not mention her when they next meet.

\--------

Milady is distracted while she is away, although she is, as ever, a consummate professional and gets the job done. In this instance her distraction helps. Her target notices her apparent lack of interest and so tries harder to impress her, his tongue is looser than it might have been if she had hung on his every word. Acquiring the relevant information is easy and she does not even need to move beyond flirtation - a promise-laden look and a low cut dress suffice in lieu of searching for papers or even seduction. Then she returns to Paris, expressing her regrets and promising to visit again.

\-------

Athos bides his time. He has spent a lot of time contemplating the bottom of his glass and searching for atonement. His attempt to help Catherine had been thrown back in his face; Ninon had at least been saved from the fire by his intervention; Sylvie had refused to let her love for him sour - she had forgiven him and left before they could learn to hate each other, though that does nothing to assuage his guilt. Anne though - he can find no conclusion other than Anne's assertion that, damaged as they were, no-one knew them better than the other. To admit that to her now, at this late stage, would certainly deserve her contempt. He has rehearsed 100 speeches, prepared 100 excuses and apologies, and anticipated 100 well deserved insults and rejections. But if he wants to move on, then he needs to speak to her, to make his peace and apologise. He tells himself that he has no ulterior motive other than this, but his subconscious disagrees and she haunts his dreams.

He knows when she returns - not by some mystical connection, but through the more prosaic method of a report from a boy he has set to watch the house.

The boy's presence has been noted, and he is dragged into the house to stand in front of Milady when she returns. He is sent away with an blunt message that his master should either present himself with an explanation, or refrain from this harassment before she complains to her patron. In truth Athos knew that his action was likely to provoke this sort of response, but it has secured him an invitation.

Milady has decided that icy politeness and anger are the best form of attack and defence, but the part of her that is Anne longs for him, and she cannot maintain her anger in the face of his straightforward acknowledgement of her grievances. He had the house watched because he wished to know when she returned - he did not wish to cause problems by asking questions. And he wanted to apologise for his past behaviour - to concede that he had been unfair, cruel at times - that he should have listened to her. Other than that, he wishes her well and hopes that she is happy. She pours drinks and offers her condolences - she is not remotely sorry for the broken relationship of course, but no-one deserves to lose a child. He shrugs in response. Deep down, he doesn't believe that he really deserved any happiness and he blames himself for the grief that his attempt has caused to others. Milady rolls her eyes at his non-verbal response and he makes an effort to explain. The child's death grieved him beyond words and was the harbinger of the end of their relationship. Sylvie was - is - a good person but they were, in the end, too different in their outlooks. She had tried to understand him and forgive his faults, but the sins that need the most forgiveness were not hers to absolve. It is Milady's turn to shrug in response - they know each other's flaws and transgressions intimately.  He had not rejected her for Sylvie per se, it was more that he had already set his course for something new - a fresh start unburdened by past mistakes. And then circumstances had made deviation from that course impossible for him to countenance. Fresh starts, it seems, are not easy to achieve. She nods silently in acknowledgement as she sips her drink. England, she concedes, was not a success. The weather and the food were as he had intimated; the company was worse. Since then, well. Where she had worked for Richelieu, then Treville, now she performs the same function for Aramis. It is not what she had wanted, but she excels at it, and it brings her security and - she gestures at their surroundings.

They look at each other in resigned recognition and it occurs to him that their lives have always been entwined - spiralling around each other. They both made lives for themselves in Paris after the wreckage of their marriage, had both left it for a fresh start, and both found themselves drawn back in the aftermath of their failed attempts at a clean break. Perhaps she had been right, they are bound to each other.

He stays late into the night, they talk as old friends, or sit in silence - some pauses in the conversation are more comfortable than others, but there is no urge to wound each other - to use words as weapons. Watching each other covertly, she observes some grey hairs, more lines on his face, but he is as handsome as ever; he notes that perhaps her waist is slightly thicker and her face fuller but she is, as the previous King once observed, the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. He stifles a yawn - it is late and he needs to go, or he will fall asleep in the chair - the fire is warm and the brandy is superior to anything he might find in a Parisian tavern. He stands and raises her hand to his lips. They both falter - the feel of her skin against his and the scent of jasmine sets his blood alight; his breath on her skin and the touch of his lips is almost enough to undo her resolve. She smiles knowingly at the way his eyes rest on her lips, and the attraction is almost irresistible, but she steps back. Of course she wants him - that goes without saying, and he wants her too - that is clear to her. But she wants more than a frenzied and intense fuck, and if she let matters progress tonight they would be unlikely to get past the floor of her sitting room - or possibly the wall, or both. Instead she invites him for a meal the following night. He nods, and steps towards her, closing the distance. This time she does not resist and is all but undone by the gentlest of kisses that brushes against her lips. She leans into him and whimpers slightly against his open lips - there is an answering groan from him. They stand in each other's arms, breathing each other's air until they finally find the strength to push apart. Tomorrow then - they smile slightly at each other. There is hope yet. Fresh starts are not easy, but perhaps they might try.

**Author's Note:**

> I liked Series 3, I liked Sylvie, I liked the idea that 4 years of war could change Athos and that he could move on. Equally, I know that some people didn't, and even one of the writers admits to wishing that Athos and Milady had ended up together. So, why not combine the two?
> 
> Also, huge thanks to people bothering to leave comments a kudos - much appreciated.


End file.
